


Bleeding Love

by ElvenSemi



Series: Inspiration [9]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Blood, F/M, Self Harm, Time Travel, i'm sorry none of my works have had porn in them yet, okay it's a lot of angst now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-07 21:16:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3183461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElvenSemi/pseuds/ElvenSemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unable to make time magic work the way she needs it to, Lavellan turns to alternative energy sources.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bleeding Love [Part 1]

Visions and memories always haunted her dreams, these days. Her practice with her mark, her training with Solas, gave her a modicum of control, but nothing like the expertise Solas had once wielded. She had to stop, notice she was in the Fade, and focus. All too often, she was too distracted, too distraught, to exercise the kind of control she used to. 

She woke with a start, sweat drenching the sheets of the ludicrously glamorous bed she had bought in Orlais. She had bought it with the full intention of taking Solas to it. 

A bed like this was too big for her. Too much empty space, to remind her of what was missing. It was too easy to have nightmares in it. 

She stumbled up, onto the balcony, wearing nothing but one of the silly slips of cloth Leliana had gotten her. From Orlais, of course. Say what you would about Orlesians, they knew how to seduce. Not that silks and candles had ever worked the way she needed them to. 

It was still before dawn. No surprise. When had she last slept through the night? She couldn’t remember. When a nightmare came that she couldn’t escape, her only recourse was forcing herself awake, as she just had. 

She hadn’t noticed Cole on the balcony rail, but she wasn’t startled when he spoke. He had a tendency to do that, fluttering around Skyhold trying to whisper little helps to anyone and everyone. 

“You shouldn’t, you know. He wouldn’t want you to. No one would want you to-“ 

“Why should I care what he’d want?” she snapped. Her words were icier with Cole every day, it seemed. She tried not to let her pain hurt him, but the more she did, the more it seemed to. 

“Hurting, hollow, harrowed, you feel like you’re bleeding, burning, bursting. But you shouldn’t be bleeding. Not like that.” 

Lavellan let out a long, drawn out sigh. 

“I… I know, Cole. Solas never practiced blood magic. There was probably a reason. But he spoke of the Dalish’s censure on it as if it were pure foolishness. Surely, there was a reason for that, as well. The Dalish were wrong about… everything. Many things. Why wouldn’t this be one of them?” 

“You shouldn’t because of you, as much as because of him. It would be your flesh, breaking, cracking, spilling forth your life and power. We would worry because of hurt and harm, not because of danger and death.” 

She couldn’t help snorting. “Is that all? Cole, I know… I know it’s different for you, a little, but I’m hurting more than a knife could injure. You know that.” 

“There are different kinds of hurts-“ 

“And some are worse than others.” Her eyes glinted, tears and rage. “No knife could compare to the damage he caused. We caused. I caused?” She shook her head. “Even the finest torturer in Val Royeux’s cold dungeons could not make a knife cause that pain. I could fix it. You know. When blood is poisoned you cut the wound to bleed out the poision. When a leg is too far gone, you remove it to save the person. I can cut myself free of this pain.” 

“If you cut the poisoned man too deeply, he will bleed out and die,” Cole said softly, his face worried. 

She smiled. “I will be careful, da’elgar. I will go slowly. But I will get what I need.” She turned to head back inside, and Cole did not follow. Perhaps he was already gone. 

-

The unfortunate fact, however, was that she did not quite know where one started with blood magic. She had felt the tingling power of blood before, but had always ignored it. She sat there, knife in hand, and she had no idea what to do. She knew how to cut a person, surely, but she had never turned a blade on herself. 

“This is why magisters use slaves,” she muttered to herself. “They would be too scared to do this themselves. A knife is a tool to kill.” Well, she certainly wasn’t going to start with chickens. This was the only way. Avoiding the traditional hand/wrist area, she sliced along the mark left by the glass shard on her vanity. She winced, but the cut was easy, and she did not have to fear going too deep. Blood began to flow, and she began to manipulate it, cautiously, prodding it with her magic. 

She rolled it into a little ball in the air, not allowing it to pool onto the ground. It was frightfully easy. Was it this easy for every mage? Or did she just have a knack? 

She could feel the power twisting around inside the blood. It was like lyrium, but darker, deeper, heavier. She needed something to try, something familiar. A simple fire rune, perhaps. She twisted the blood around, using it to lay the familiar pattern on the ground, uncertain how this was supposed to work. 

As soon as the rune was finished, the area suddenly exploded in flame, causing her to screech and fall backwards. There was a scorch mark on the stone of her floor. She swore under her breath, gathering more blood up off the ground where it had spilled and back into the floating ball she was practicing with. It had more potency than she was used to. She had to learn how much to use… 

She heard footfalls on the stairs. She swore, then swore again. She grabbed a bottle off of her desk, shoved the blood inside, trying not to spill, jammed the stopper in, and slammed it into a drawer. 

It was Cullen who threw open the door. Because of course, she wanted to see the face of an ex-templar directly after her first attempt at practicing blood magic. 

He took in the sight of her, wide eyed, leaning against her vanity, in nothing but a rather see-through slip. He averted his eyes, blushing furiously. 

“Forgive me, Inquisitor, but I heard screams…” he began, then trailed off slightly. He was noticing the scorched ground. 

“My fault,” she said, rubbing her head with her non-bloodied hand, keeping the cut one leaning on the vanity behind her. “I couldn’t sleep, so I was experimenting with some new battle magic. I should have known better than to do so indoors, but it’s so blasted cold outside…” 

Cullen nodded, still not looking directly at her. “I’m sure the staff can clean it up, in the morning. You should try and get some rest, Inquisitor,” he added, glancing over and being very careful to maintain eye contact. His eyes were full of worry, yes, but she could see the background radiation of pity that was driving her insane. All of her friends were looking at her like that. They all knew. Her vallaslin gone, her heart torn open and bleeding, it was obvious to anyone who saw her what had happened. At least a general idea. No one understood exactly, least of all Lavellan. 

“Yes, of course, Cullen,” she forced a weak smile, tried some of her old flirtation, for comforting the both of them. “I’m glad you have such fast reactions. Had a high dragon flown in my window, you might have been my only defense.” 

He snorted, despite himself. “The high dragon would need more protection than you would, Inquisitor. Please, be well.” He nodded as he took his leave, closing the door behind him. She could hear him stopping and talking to someone on the way down, likely offering her excuses for her. She plopped down on her bed, breathing a sigh of relief. Her hand had already stopped bleeding. She needed a safer place to- 

A knock on the door. 

With a sigh, she opened it, expecting Cullen again. “Yes, commander, how can I- oh.” 

It was the person she wanted to see even less than a templar in that moment. 

Vivienne. 

“Oh, First Enchanter,” Lavellan began, surprised. She and Vivienne spoke rarely, mostly when Lavellan needed instruction in the ways of fashion or appearances, which happened more than Lavellan particularly cared for. 

“Hardly,” she said, her soft voice lilting, and just as intimidating as the day Lavellan had first met her. “Now least of ever. Not with our Divine Victoria preparing to ascend to her throne and end the circles for good.” 

Lavellan shuffled her feet on the rug. It was no secret that the Inquisitions support had been the reason why Leliana had gotten the position as new Divine. After saving the world, Lavellan likely could have placed a nug on the Sunburst Throne. She chose Leliana, whose name was already being battered around the talks, to throw her support behind. 

She didn’t know if Solas would have approved. 

She KNEW Vivienne didn’t. 

But the woman had caught the burns on the stone. An eyebrow quirked. “Cullen tells me you were practicing new spells.” 

Lavellan sighed. “You don’t have to lecture me, Vivienne, I know it was stupid,” she said, praying a smokescreen so simple would work against someone as sly as Vivienne. “I just… I just can’t sleep, lately.” 

Vivienne face softened somewhat. _Pity,_ Lavellan could have spat. Someone who had never liked her still viewed her with pity. She was truly a pathetic sight. But in this case, she could work that to her advantage. Crocodile tears welled up at the corners of her eyes. She sniffed, wiped them away quickly, but the job was done. Vivienne sighed. 

“My, you are a bit of a mess. Pull yourself together, darling, the whole of Thedas is watching you. You cannot fall apart over the loss of a single lover.” 

The words stung, even though distracting Vivienne into a lecture had been the entire point. She resisted a cutting remark, although she had the perfect one. She went with a lighter one instead, enough to insult but not mortify. “We cannot all be so world-weary as you, first enchanter.” She stood, as if to open the door for Vivienne, when she saw the Enchanter’s eyes slide down. Shit. 

“My, my, darling,” the older woman said, her eyes narrowing. “What on earth happened to your hand?” 

Thank you, Varric, for all those Wicked Grace lessons, Lavellan silently prayed, her face forming into confusion. She glanced down at her own hand. “Oh! I must have cut it when the fire startled me.” 

“Whatever on? You shouldn’t keep sharp objects where they can be stumbled into.” 

She waved her hand vaguely towards the vanity, not easily seen from the entrance. Where the mirror once was lay bare, with only scant shards of glass attached to the sides. “I… lost my temper. I haven’t had it replaced.” 

Vivienne’s eyes glittered. “I could very easily repair that for you, darling. Nearly any mage could, in fact.” 

Lavellan shook her head. “Thank you, Vivienne… But I broke it for a reason. I would not like a repeat.” 

Vivienne sighed, her suspicion abated for the time being. “Do try to be more careful, dear. All of the grace of an elf, and yet I’m surprised you’ve yet to fall from the balcony.” 

She took her leave, and after Lavellan could no longer hear her footfalls, the lying elf let out a long sigh of relief. 

“Thank you, Varric. Thank you Leliana and Josephine. You’ve all taught me to lie like a champion.” 

Her eyes fell onto the drawer where the bottle of blood was. Later. She needed a better place to do this, or she might burn her wardrobe the ground the next time. 

-

It was some kind of irony that Vivienne, someone who normally largely ignored Lavellan in the past, was the first person to catch on to what was happening. Except perhaps Cole. But he, of course, was a cheater. He knew about things before the people thinking them knew about them. 

Vivienne had started dropping in for tea, disrupting moments with Alexius or quiet practice in Lavellan’s room. When Lavellan began hiding in the afternoons, somehow, Vivienne always managed to track her down, sometimes recruiting the unwitting Cassandra to assist her. 

This time, she was hiding in the pub, but, creatively, was underneath a table. 

“Seriously, boss, what are you doing under there?” 

“I don’t pay you to ask questions, Bull, I pay you to protect me. And right now, I need protection from Vivienne and her ghastly tea sessions.” 

“Well, normally I wouldn’t be one to complain about you being between my legs-“

“Oh, shut up.” 

“But you have to admit this is a little weird. What’s going on with you two? Used to be you couldn’t pay Vivienne to play nice with you.” 

“I’m honestly not sure,” Lavellan lied with a scowl. “She might be trying to civilize me again. I knew I shouldn’t have bought all those Orlesian cakes. I’ve gotten her hopes up.” 

“That was a little out of character. You hate chocolate.” 

“I was hoping… never mind what I was hoping. Just hold still and be large.” 

Sure enough, Vivienne soon entered the pub. You could tell from how the swearing quickly petered off. 

“Iron Bull, have you seen the Inquisitor?” came Vivienne’s voice from above. 

“Hm? No, not today. Is she with the horses?” 

Lavellan could hear the light sigh. “No, I don’t believe so. Let me know if you see her, dear.” There was a pause, no doubt as Vivienne glared around at the occupants, searching. Lavellan shivered. Finally, the older mage left. Lavellan stuck her head up between Iron Bull’s thighs. 

“Thank Mythal. I’d rather have a pack of Mabari on my trail than her.” 

“Seriously, why is she after you so much?” 

“For tea, that’s all I really know. She said she had just checked in the stables, yeah? I’m going to see if I can’t grab a hart and sneak out.” 

“By yourself?” Iron Bull said, sounding surprised. 

“I could hardly sneak out with you, Bull. You’re as subtle as a trumpet.” 

-

Somehow, Lavellan did manage to escape, galloping across the long bridge that separated Skyhold from the mainland. How long could she get away with being gone? She’d told Iron Bull to leave a message with Leliana, so no one would panic. But she needed to get work done, real work. And she knew where she needed to go. 

Crestwood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER IS BORING, I'M SORRY. I just needed to establish what was going on and who suspected what a little bit for diving right into the "blood! blood everywhere!" side of things. Part 2 will involve actual time magic, I promise. And will actually have some Solas. 
> 
> This takes place shortly after Time Stands Still, chronologically.


	2. Keep Bleeding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally finding privacy away from the prying eyes of Skyhold, Lavellan attempts to find and undo her greatest mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was only supposed to be a two chapter story, but it's taking me a very long time and is well over 5k words, so I decided to split it up more. Enjoy?

She hated being here. Being alone here was even worse. She could have distracted herself if she brought a few of the scant friends she had left. But she needed to be out, away from Skyhold. She supposed, retroactively, she could have brought Cole with her. The spirit was nothing if not good at keeping secrets when one insisted upon it. One just needed to remember to insist FIRST. Otherwise the whole of Skyhold might overhear him mumble about it. 

But she really preferred to do this alone. And after defeating Corypheus and any number of dragons, she rather doubted that a Fereldan village would have anything that could even begin to harm her. 

Still, to be here again… 

She stared at the waterfall, sullen and sulking. Being here was like being stabbed in the heart all over again. 

Where had she gone wrong? 

Solas had seemed so… light, when he brought her here. His body was tense, like a hunter about to take a shot, a mage about to fire a spell. Someone about to jump off a cliff into the sea with naught but faith to protect them. He was well known among her companions for his straight face, but so long spent in his company, in life and in the Fade, had accustomed her to his expressions. She would not misread him so badly. 

He had not brought her to a waterfall near Crestwood with the intention of breaking her. Something went horribly wrong that night. And she would find out what. She could set camp nearby, and she would stay until she got something resembling results. She needed to practice, blood magic especially, and she simply could not do that in Skyhold. Especially not with Vivienne poking around, never letting her have a moment to herself. 

She set up protective runes, mourning as she cast the magic Solas taught her. The bastard… He changed her so much, touched so much of her, that she was unrecognizable from the young Dalish she’d been when this Inquisition mess started. Did he really think he could just… slip out of her life? There was no part of her she could say was not his. Nothing in this entire godsforsaken continent that would not remind her of him. Exploring the Fade, something she had once eagerly done at his side, indeed, something she could only do because of him, was now a miserable and dangerous endeavor. Even an act as simple as placing runes and wards, both to keep wild animals out and dangerous magic in, dripped with memories of him, runes turning into haunted ghosts under her fingers. 

She took deep breaths, trying to calm herself. Meditation would only help so much. She should just jump into it. Frustrated by her own lack of control, she sat down in the center of the wards and yanked out her knife. She needed to remember not to go overboard; it was not an enemy she stabbed into. She dragged the blade sharply along the outside of her arm, hissing in pain. The blood responded quickly this time, and there was more of it. It welled up around her, spinning around as if it wanted to help her block out the world. She focused into the prepared time spell, attempting to channel the blood the way she did lyrium. 

Red shapes danced around her. Screaming, running, limping… Darkspawn. She was seeing the Darkspawn attack from ten years prior! The last time she used this magic, she’d seen three weeks into the past! 

“This explains an awful lot about why people turn to blood magic,” she murmured to herself, easing up on the spell, letting time slip effortlessly by. Blood continued to well out of her… pure power. So obvious how it could corrupt, why people turned to others for the blood instead of themselves. If she lost too much blood, she could lose control of the spell, risk passing out, risk dying. And she only possessed so much blood. No healing would work on you while you were casting with blood magic. But she had a large supply of elfroot and embrium, regeneration potions, lyrium potions. Almost all of her secret stock, built up over time to avoid suspicion--as if there was anyone left in the Inquisition who would question her. She had supplies, she had privacy. And she had all the time in the world. 

-

Days later, she could consistently cast the spell to view the past, at least. She was even starting to get a feel for how much blood to use, not only for the time spells, but for others. She hadn’t gone so far as to put her wards up with blood. Too much of a risk of someone stumbling across her. Excuses through Iron Bull were one thing. The Inquisition never left her alone for long, not even if she begged, as she had in the past. There was a reason she hadn’t told anyone where she was going. They would come looking for her. But if they didn’t know where to start, it would take even Leliana some time to track her down first. Even if any could guess, no one knew where Solas had taken her that night. None knew the meaning this stupid waterfall held for her. Who would look for her here? 

She was getting… a feel for it was the only word. She’d never been much of a book learner, much to Dorian’s eternal consternation. She just felt her way through things. It was easier, with Solas there to guide her through new magic, new experiences. Everything had been easier. She frowned down at her blood-lain runes, trying to fix any errors. So far she’d only seen through time. She needed to figure out how to step into it. She and Alexius had worked out a few ideas on that note. To avoid causing undue strain on time and space, rather than stepping from one time into another, she was trying to send her… her spirit, her consciousness, through time and back into her own body. That seemed at least slightly less likely to start tearing holes in the Veil. 

And hell, even if it did, she was the only one in the world who could fix it. If anyone should be experimenting with dangerous, veil-tearing magic, it was her. 

She poured a bit more magic into her spell, delighting at the sensation, whispers dancing along her body. Cuts now laced both of her arms, as well as her legs, scarring already from regeneration potions rubbed into flesh. She hadn’t felt this good about casting magic in a long time. But this was new magic. Solas had never taught her this. Solas _would_ never teach her this. She believed that. Not because it was blood magic, but because he didn’t like the sight of her bleeding. How many times had he rushed to her side to stem the flow of her precious life’s energy? No, he would never approve. 

This was new. 

This was all her. 

Even if it was all for him. 

“Please, vhenan.” 

The words echoing through time startled her out of her spell, reality snapping shut with a splash of blood. 

“I found it,” she whispered to herself. 

What would she do, now that she had? She knew she could change things. She knew it. Solas would not take her to a place like this, remove the very vallaslin from her face, just to leave. He would not do something like that purposefully, as if in a way that seemed design to hurt her as badly as feasible, to leave her bleeding for as long as possible. 

Something had gone wrong. 

Somewhere, _she had gone wrong!_

She poured her blood back into the spell, slowly easing time back to the proper place. 

“Can you feel it on your skin, tingling?” 

She had it. 

The world formed around her, first in shades of bloody red and then, as she eagerly slit open her wrist, forcing more power into the spell, into real color. Existence shuddered around her. She stared at herself, an odd, out of body experience. But she needed to get into that body. She needed to change this. 

“I’m listening, and I have a few suggestions.” 

In. In! She couldn’t just watch! She saw this a thousand times in her dreams, but this was _real!_ She just needed to reach out and grab… 

“What I must tell you… the truth…” 

That gave her pause. Seeing it again, in real time. The change in his face. 

Was this really the truth he sought to tell her? Brought her all the way out here, to tell her this, then leave? 

It didn’t matter, she just needed to get in, and then she could… 

“So this is... what? Just one more thing the Dalish got wrong?” 

Damnit! She struggled to freeze the time, to move it backwards again, to jump into the moment. But she struggled even to keep it going. She lost too much blood, healed too many wounds, only to slice them open again. 

He was removing her vallaslin; so odd to watch it from the outside looking in. His face was full of reverence and love. She stopped struggling and stared with rapt focus. Could she pinpoint the moment it all went wrong? 

They were kissing, and her heart ached with fresh agony. He pulled away. That look. That look! What was it? Why did he suddenly look… sad? Scared? Regretful? What happened, god damnit all, where did she go wrong? She couldn’t see; she couldn’t see! 

“In another world…” 

He was backing away as if her touch might burn him. 

“Why not this one?” 

The rejection burned in her anew as she turned away as he did from her, letting the spell slip away. Fresh tears burned in her eyes. She simply was out of energy for this. Lyrium and healing did their best, now she needed rest. Any mage would call her a fool for casting in this condition. But she would never be able to sleep. She hadn’t slept properly in weeks. And with the hurt this fresh, she would never be able to keep herself asleep. 

Fortunately, once upon a time, that heart breaking elven apostate gave her a potion for just this kind of situation. With it, she could sleep. Force herself to regain the power she needed. Healing potions and a good night’s sleep would have her in fighting force the next day. And she _would_ insert herself into the past. She would change things. 

She would find out where she went wrong. 

-

Inserting herself forcefully into the Fade was a dangerous gamble. Hurt so raw, in a place where the Veil was so thin, spirits flocked to her, and, heavy with drugs, she could not force herself awake. An endless stream of Solases slipped by, each promising her heaven, each painfully clearly a lie. They could not even begin to emulate the soft freckles on his face, the imperceptible upward curve of his lips when he caught her staring at him. 

They were pale shadows, ugly deceptions, and she could never fall for them, even if she wanted to lose herself in the glory. 

Demons of grief tried their own luck, taunting her with heartbreak, tormenting her with lovely pictures of what could have been. But they all rang hollow. They were based on her own perception, therefore they seemed forced, stiff, like an Orlesian mask. She’d never been able to predict Solas’ actions. Til the very end, he always surprised her. Pathetic shades of reality had no hope to reflect upon a future that could have been, when even she herself never owned an idea of what it might have looked like. 

Eventually, getting no rise out of the Dreamer, they abandoned her, frustrated, to tend to their own patches of the Fade. She was utterly without desire to explore the area, but there was little option. She bored easily, and now was not the time to allow her mind to wander. 

She’d come a long way from the young girl who cowered in the vastness of the Fade, as if it could swallow her whole. She traipsed through it almost lazily, looking for something to attract her focus. The area was lousy with memories from the Fifth Blight, but unlike Solas, she’d never been particularly interested in watching spirits reenact bloody battles. There was enough of that when she woke. She was simultaneously amused and minorly distraught to see the beginning blossoms of spirits of love near the waterfall, bits of wisps collecting into something more. It stung, but it renewed her determination. After she rewrote history, mages would flock to see the spirits of love that bloomed from the memory of her passion. There would be no more grief taunting the edges. 

She became aware of another presence, not pleading for her attention like the other spirits, but watching. She found it, sitting in a nearby tree, and was startled by the familiarity in the strong lines of its bronzed body. A build so similar to Solas. This was a desire spirit she’d met before, come again to visit. 

“It’s you,” she said, surprised despite herself. “What are you doing here?” 

“Your longing called me, vhenan,” the spirit said, slipping down out of the tree. 

Lavellan scowled. “Do not call me that, elgar.” 

“It has been spoiled by his lying lips, I see. I warned you this would happen. You should have stayed with me, instead.” 

Lavellan sighed, thinking of the sweet kiss she and Solas shared after the spirit’s departure, what seemed like eons in the past. “No, never. You could never have given me what he did.” 

“It ended in heartbreak. I told you it would.” 

“You did,” she agreed. “And it did. But that was my fault. I’ll find another way.” 

“Always so determined, vhenan!” It ignored her glare, the clenching of her fists. “It could never work. No one can change the past. Stay with me, instead. Know what happiness you missed before.” He approached her then, whispered ‘vhenan’ lightly into her pointed ear. 

She imagined even spirits could be shocked and terrified. She had met Cole, who was clearly capable of both. She imagined this spirit was, when she gripped him by the neck with her marked hand, lifting him nearly off his feet despite her small build. 

“Do not _dare_ to imagine what I can and cannot do, elgar,” she spat. “I have power burned into my flesh that this world has not seen for ages past. I can manipulate the Fade to my whim as any true Dreamer might, and you lust after that power as plainly as you wish me to lust after you. But that is not all I am. Elgar’alas, I can manipulate the fabric of the veil itself. I could plunge you, screaming, into the waking world, to weaken and die with no host to call your own. I could simply use the knife’s edge of the veil itself to tear you asunder.” She leaned close to its face then, releasing the fullness of her long-born frustration. “You do not call me vhenan. I am ONE man’s vhenan, and if I hear that word from your lips again, it will be the last word you ever speak.” 

She released him then, her mark sputtering her hatred at the world. He rubbed his neck, eyes wide. He hurt there, because she willed him harm. Spirits would do well not to underestimate even a half-trained Dreamer.


End file.
